


roll down the rapids

by limehue



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Past Relationship(s), listne THEYRE gay and in lvoe, major fucking spoilers for the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 06:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14182431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limehue/pseuds/limehue
Summary: With the imminent threat of death and destruction that loomed over the world now gone and despite the hesitancy that sits heavy in the pit of his stomach, he visits Nate.





	roll down the rapids

**Author's Note:**

> anyway the movie was sort of awful lmfao but the nate/jake ship has risen folks!

With the imminent threat of death and destruction that loomed over the world now gone and despite the hesitancy that sits heavy in the pit of his stomach, he visits Nate.

Nate, with the jagged cuts that run deep into his body against his skin, fingertips covered in drying blood and his stubborn insistence that it _wasn’t that bad._

The medical bay is littered with rangers and cadets and everyone that was caught in the crossfire of the drone attack. Jake finds Nate in the far corner of the bay, his suit stripped away to reveal pristine bandages, pools of bright blood bleeding through and bruised skin. He looks tired but alive, shifting on the bed as he attempts to get comfortable. Relief fills Jake’s chest like a cool breeze.

“How’re you feeling, mate?” He asks and Nate only tips chin forward and sighs.

“Alright. They patched me up,” he motions to the bandages, “can leave as soon as my discharge papers are signed.”

“How are you?” Nate sits up a little, mouth turned down into a frown.

The question sits heavy in the air. He wants to say he’s fine, that the whole saving the world was a relief and he’s glad to be alive. Instead, Mako, with her palm pressed to the glass of the helicopter and her eyes, stricken and fearful, occupies his mind. He doubts he can think of anything else for a while.

He swallows the lump in his throat, “I’m holding up.”

“I’m sorry about your sister,” Nate’s voice is strangely quiet and gentle, in a way Jake rarely experiences with him.

He reaches forward, hand smoothing over Jake’s, thumb brushing idly against the calluses on his palms.

“She was a great woman.”

Jake clears his throat but nods, “yeah, she was.”

For a moment, silence fills the air between them.

Nate hesitates and then, “Jake, I –“

A nurse ducks her head between the curtain, mouth pulled into a polite smile, “looks like you’re already to go, Ranger Lambert,” she rifles with a few papers and then hands Nate a paper cup holding painkillers, “take these now but I’ll give you some to take every couple of hours. You also have to come back in a few days and we’ll get your bandages changed.”

Nate nods and takes the bottle of painkillers she presses into his palm before downing the ones in the paper cup with a few sips of water.

“What were you saying?” Jake stands, one arm stabilizing Nate as he helps him off the bed after the nurse leaves.

Nate stills for a moment, a pained noise escaping his mouth as he struggles to stand upright. Jake keeps his arm firm around his torso.

Nate shakes his head and offers him a smile, “nothing.”

—

In his dreams, he sees his sister.

Sometimes it’s pleasant. Of the times they spent at the creek by their house, ankle deep in mud, pulling out junk and insects from the shallows. Of Mako’s smile, a gentle twitch of her lips and her laughter, sharp and lovely and rare, ringing like an echo in his ears.

Sometimes it’s of her death. Of her helicopter hurtling to the ground, crashing and ablaze in heat and fire and shrapnel. Of her face, serene in a way she has always been and fearful of uncertainty. Of the way she slipped right through his fingers.

Nate is quiet in the bunk above him, snores soft and peaceful and familiar. Since the destruction of the Shatterdome cleared nearly half the sleeping quarters, sharing rooms became essential. Jake blinks several times, eyes trained on the metal stabilizing beams of Nate’s bunk before pushing the covers off. He slips out of his bed and into his shoes, wincing when the door lets out a rusted groan as he opens it.

“You going somewhere?” Nate’s voice is raspy from sleep.

Jake sucks in a breath, “go back to sleep.”

“Help me up,” Nate shifts above him.

“Go back to sleep,” he repeats, “you’re still hurt.”

Even in the dark, Jake can see the twisted frown on Nate’s face so he sighs and then thrusts an arm forward, blindly reaching for Nate’s hand. Nate’s fingers slip between his, gripping tightly as he scoots off the top bunk and down the ladder. Jake ignores the warmth of his palm, the rough feeling of calluses against his own hand.

“Where were you going anyway?” Nate mumbles as he tugs a sweater on, following Jake out of their quarters.

“Kitchen,” he replies and nudges his shoulder against Nate’s, “was hungry.”

He smiles, an easy smile that forms creases at the corners of his eyes as he nudges Jake back.

“I never really said earlier,” Nate clears his throat, “but I’m glad you’re back.”

Jake shrugs, “it was the right thing to do.”

Nate doesn’t reply.

The kitchens are empty and quiet when they enter; he switches the light on and lets Nate use his shoulder to hoist himself up on the counter.

He snatches the ice cream off the top shelf of the freezer, tossing a can of whipped cream in Nate’s direction. He catches it easily, squeezing some directly into his mouth.

“Mate, you got whipped cream on your face,” he laughs slightly and Nate chases at the cream on the corner of his mouth with his tongue, rolling his eyes in Jake’s direction.

He scoops some ice cream out, shaking out a few brightly coloured sprinkles into the bowl before settling beside Nate on the counter. For a moment, it’s quiet between them.

“You have a nightmare?” Nate’s tone is careful but even.

“Nah,” Jake replies, “just hungry.”

Nate shakes his head, “I’m in your head,” his hand slides over the counter and towards Jake’s, “you don’t have to hide shit.”

He tilts his head back, “not from me, Jake.”

His words are a quiet flow between them, in the middle of the kitchen with his hand, warm and comforting, against Jake’s and it’s all so familiar in a way that makes something drop from his throat to his stomach.

He sets his bowl down and then turns his hand so his fingers can entwine with Nate’s. He squeezes slightly.

“I know.”

It’s easy being with Nate, despite his bristling and sharp tongue. Despite his need to follow every rule and regulation, despite their fights and idle frustrations and everything that came with loving each other. Despite it all it somehow it feels as if they picked up right where they left off.

“I’m sorry,” he pauses, “I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t have left,” he leans, shoulder pressing against Nate’s, “not like that.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go that way,” Nate mutters, “we always fought about stupid stuff.”

“But I’m just relieved that you’re safe,” and it’s sincere and clear and something warm swells in his chest.

Jake tips his head forward and kisses Nate.

His mouth is warm and soft, his lips chapped and still as wonderful Jake remembers them. He tastes of familiarity and like whipped cream; Jake shifts, one hand coming to rest on Nate’s bicep, the other wrapping slowly around his waist.

They pull away after a moment, Nate’s fingertips skimming over the curve of Jake’s jaw with a sigh.

The Shatterdome is in ruins and much of the city is as well. Emptiness fills Jake’s heart like a ditch crumbling and opening farther and farther until he feels as if his chest might cave in. Yet here, with Nate’s fingertips pressing warmth and life and gentleness against his skin and his kisses, soft and sugary, for a while it feels alright.

For a while, even if it’s brief, it feels okay.

**Author's Note:**

> comments/kudos r appreciated xxx


End file.
